


Back in the Game

by deird1



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Stargate SG-1
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:07:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27539620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deird1/pseuds/deird1
Summary: Some jobs are hard to stay away from.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	Back in the Game

The monthly delivery is brought by a captain, in full dress uniform. Not the first time, but still unusual. The moment Jon opens the door, he stands to attention and salutes.

Jon raises an eyebrow. “A salute? Really?”

The captain’s arm becomes, if anything, even more rigidly fixed in a salute. “Sir, you do still rank as an Air Force Colonel, regardless of… other considerations.”

“True,” Jon acknowledges, and shrugs. “At ease, captain.”

“Your mail, sir.” He hands over the package, and then bends to pick up a large box. “And your beer.”

Usually Jon would carry that inside himself. But the captain looks pretty keen, so he stands aside and lets him pass. The beer goes on the table – and the captain stays where he is, making no move to leave. He’s got a document folder under his arm, brought in on top of the beer. Jon closes the apartment door, and looks at him appraisingly. “Was there something else?”

The captain nods. “You’ve heard about California, sir?”

“That town – the one that exploded?”

“Three days ago, yes, sir.”

Jon rolls his eyes, and puts his hands in his pockets. “Granted, I probably _could_ blow up a town if I decided to – but I was doing a Physics exam at the time. It’s a fairly decent alibi.”

“Yes sir. That’s not why I’m here, sir.”

“So…”

“Your government would like your assistance, sir.”

“Yep. I see the mix-up,” Jon nods. “You want _General_ O’Neill. Bit taller, going grey – and, you know, actually _works_ for you.”

The captain doesn’t bother responding to that. He just stands, silent, until Jon sighs and asks “What is it?”

“Two hours after the town collapsed, a busload of passengers arrived at the Sunstop Motor Inn in Lucas Lake. That’s the next town over.” He holds out a thin manilla folder. “The passengers included these people – a group of civilians that the government tries to keep a pretty close eye on.”

Jon opens the folder. There’s barely anything – just some mugshots and a list of names. “What kind of group are they?”

“That’s classified.”

“Why are we keeping track of them?”

“Also classified, sir.” Jon looks at him in disbelief, and he grimaces. “Sorry, sir.”

This. This is the kind of thing that makes him glad he has regular beer deliveries, direct from the Air Force.

“So you think this group blew up the town? Why didn’t we stop them beforehand?” (And there’s that ‘we’. He might be officially non-military, but Jon still can’t suppress the bit of him that puts ‘we’ in sentences like this. It’s habit, that’s all.)

“Official policy is to take a hands-off approach with these people. They’re unorthodox – and _skirt_ the edge of legality – but their actions are usually beneficial to us rather than otherwise. The town collapse was…” The captain frowns, searching for a word, and settles on “…unexpected.”

That’s one word for it. CNN had gone with “Shocking!” and “Unprecedented!”, which Jon thought covered it better.

And another thought has occurred to him. “If these people are above my clearance, why do _you_ know about them? You’re part of the SGC, aren’t you?”

“I’m a liaison officer, sir. It’s my job to liaise between the Stargate Program and— certain _other_ classified programs.”

“What _kind_ of— never mind.” Jon gives up on that, and settles on, “You said you wanted my ‘assistance’?”

“With a closer investigation, yes. We need to know how they destroyed the town, why they destroyed it, and if they plan to destroy anything else.”

“Isn’t this spy stuff? Why are you coming to me?”

“You’re the only sixteen year old with a high enough clearance level.”

An odd way to put it. “And you want me to…?”

The captain picks up one of the photos. “This is Dawn Summers. She’s the youngest member of the group’s inner circle. If they’re planning anything, she’ll know about it.”

“Her? She’s just a kid!”

“So are you, sir,” the captain points out. Jon narrows his eyes, and the captain shifts, uncomfortably.

“You’re telling me this girl is a core member of a terrorist cell?”

“Not… _exactly_ , sir. But we would like to find out what they’re up to.”

“How am I going to do that?”

The captain coughs, meaningfully. “I’m sure you’re more than capable of coming up with a way, sir. And Miss Summers is, I’m told, quite attractive. To other teenagers, that is.”

“You want me to—”

“That’s not for me to say, sir.”

Jon is getting a headache. And really wanting to crack open a beer.

“You really think me going all Fabio on this chick is the best option?” He flips through the other photos. “There are some older people here – why not go after them?”

“We believe that Miss Summers – the _younger_ Miss Summers, I should say – might be more receptive to outside influence. And less hostile. Although I should mention that she has _some_ combat training.”

“So she’s a fighter?” He still can’t believe that all he’s got is this list of names.

“Not exactly, sir.”

“Then… what?”

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Permission granted.”

“She’s kind of a nerd, sir.”

Jon looks up from the folder. “Scuse me?”

“As far as we’re aware, her main contribution to the group is in a research capacity. She’s interested in old books, and good at translating obscure languages.”

“So she’s – what, a mini-Daniel?”

“I’ve met Doctor Jackson, sir.” The captain looks awkward for a moment, then continues, “Permission—”

“Granted.”

“That’d be accurate, sir.”

Well, at least he knows how to handle someone like Daniel. (And why a terrorist cell would _need_ a mini-Daniel is a whole other question, but he leaves that for now.)

“So I’m on this mission because I’m… a nerd-whisperer?”

The captain raises an eyebrow. “Do I take it you’re accepting the mission then, sir?”

Dammit.

“Yeah. Sure.” Jon sticks his hands back in his pockets, and tries to look unconcerned.

“Excellent.” The captain places the rest of the document folder on the table. “You’ll find your travel arrangements in here. A taxi will call for you at 0600 tomorrow.”

He’d better get well paid for this.


End file.
